Last poem.

This will be the last poem I shall write here

Or anywhere, for they do not matter.

This was once a succor for a lost child,

Abandoned, left untamed, left in the wild.

Left for the dogs, a father that was one.

If only I were just an only son,

Then I would have had a better outlet,

Yearning would not have been a song infinite.

Bruja magick touched me from a young age,

Unmistakable, that was my first page.

Right from the moment I came to this world,

Nothing stopped the direction I was hurled.

The night took me young, an evil song sung.

I cried so much when I was a small thing

Now the ing of time has changed nothing.

Malicious things have followed on my trial

Yelling and hurting while I was still frail.

Childhood was absent of my whore father

Hardly did I ever see my mother

Even when I could find a tender time

Shrouded within this misery of mine,

There is decay at the end of that line.

Love, love, love, I became obsessed with love

It ruled all my adolescence decisions.

Knowing nothing from below or above

Except to chase after my distractions.

All in vain, a desire most profane.

Hurt followed after: my jet black hound.

Onward we go, after something profound.

’Till the end of the road was all I found.

Black is the heart that conjures these words

Restless am I when I see the signs,

All invitation to their worlds.

No, these must certainly be illusions.

Damn these strong illusions, damn these strong ions.

I like to believe these things have meaning.

No, in truth I see these things are fleeting.

Going nowhere, going ever lower.

I fell in love with a mad woman once,

Requite was her love to my own ion.

Oh how I wish it was her that would dance,

Not like that was going to ever happen.